The First of Many
by prettytimemachine
Summary: Heinz Kruger receives a mysterious letter about his father. After meeting with his correspondence he finds out much more than he bargained for. Information of experiments on a 'super soldier serum' will lead him down a path that will test his loyalty to his friends and his country. Takes place before the events of Captain America.


1

It was a brisk autumn day in Germany. The empty streets of the small town showed no signs of life. The war had taken much from everyone. No bread was sold on the corner shop. The library had been torn down months ago. The rustle of leaves from the barren trees fell on deaf ears. No one dared walk to and fro alone in this time of uncertainty. No one else in the world acknowledged that the first country that Germany invaded was their own.

The people paid for it dearly. The cost was great as people struggled to make ends meet, to survive on nothing. They heard whispered words of hope. Rumors of the Americans coming to their aid were heard like whispered secrets. Would they come? Did they know there were innocents in the mix of all this? In the mean time all anyone could do was wait. Wait for what, they didn't know. They started taking matters into their own hands. It was the only way to stay alive.

A lone man walked the streets of Danzig. His coat huddled around him with the collar tight around his neck. He had a scarf but used it to try and keep the biting wind from his already cracked hands. The red fabric stood out against his dark wool coat. Anyone would have thought he wanted to be seen, to get caught walking alone. Even if his intentions were innocent, no one dared risk being caught alone.

As he walked briskly, puffs of hot air streamed behind him as he trudged through the freezing cold. The scuff of his worn boots trailed through the ghost town, signaling his every move. If anyone were watching, which no one risked doing for fear of being called a Nazi spy, they would say he was up to something. Taking a sharp turn down a dark back alley, the man followed down the brick path with determination. Stopping at a weather beaten, wooden door, he reluctantly pulled his hand from the soft warmth of his makeshift glove. He knocked twice without hesitation, but bit back a snarl as the contact between breaking skin and dry wood was too painful.

He should be used to it really. It had been so long since anyone felt any warmth. The numbness was common now. No one could tell you what the summer felt like. It always felt like Germany was stuck in limbo, always cold, always fearful to feel anything. Sticking his hand back into his scarf, the man waited a few minutes for anyone to answer his knock. He didn't knock again, he knew better. Eventually someone would come to answer his call. They would retreat from hiding in fear from the stranger at the door.

He knew exactly how they felt. The fear that anyone could come knocking on your door for any reason, sinister or not, was enough to make anyone hesitate at the call. But he knew they would come, in time. A slight scuttle of feet and moving furniture alerted him that he would not have to wait long. A small, unfamiliar smile crept over the right side of his lips. It hurt, in the even colder alley, as his skin felt stretched and withered over nothing more than dry cold bones and little to no muscle or body mass.

He still stood out against a crowd. His 6'2 height and bulky frame towered over most people. He looked healthy to others, when all others were slight and tiny compared to him. The jittery twist of the door knob seemed normal compared to how the door only opened less than an inch. He stood, patient as ever, in understanding. The form of an elderly woman crept from behind the slightly ajar door. It was shut abruptly before the man could even make eye contact. The clattering of locks and bolts being opened vibrated through the thin wood. Just as quickly as the door was shut in his face it opened swiftly and made room for a welcome body to walk through. He took the invitation and hastily stepped over the threshold. He didn't take off his coat or even adjust the scarf around his hands as the air in the small space that he now inhabited was just as cold as the outside.

His host scuttled around him towards the door on the opposite side of the room. The dusty overturned chairs and the table with the missing leg gave no humble welcome. The walls were barren of any such decorations. No framed pictures of loved ones or penny paintings of the seaside could ease the wandering eye. The dark dankness of the room gave no sign of any one living there. Maybe that was the intention?

A short inpatient wave from the woman signaled the guest to follow. He did so without hesitation. After unlocking the door that she must have locked behind her before he came, she pulled him into the dark hall. He stood immobile, hearing her lock the door. She tugged on his arm after pocketing her set of keys. Her forwardness was not unpleasant, more comforting. If the man knew any better he would have thought she was using him to help her walk through. He kept her hand safely in the crook of his arm.

After following her up a rickety flight of stairs she came to yet another locked door. Retrieving her keys from her apron she pulled the right one, she knew all the keys by heart as she had gone through this routine countless times. He followed still, with no words spoken. Walking through the now open door, behind the woman, he felt immense relief at seeing the stark contrast between the previous rooms and the one he was in now.

The roaring fire across from him beckoned him to take refuge before it. The clean linens that were laid across the small round table in the middle of the room gave a comfort that the abandoned room below could not compete with. The meager table setting made his stomach growl at the thought of something warm to eat. The mismatched tea set hinted of a story that could only be told by this woman.

The history displayed from the old black and white photos showed a little bit of the woman's past. The many different faces that were smiling back were proof that there was once life in this time. He made sure not to move until he was given permission to do so. After locking the door thoroughly the woman walked around the bulky man that she now noticed looked too big for her tiny abode, and walked towards the fire. She adjusted a kettle over the fire and turned to him with uncertainty.

"You received my letter?" The old woman's voice was hoarse from lack of communication.

"I did." He thought it might have been quite obvious as he was standing here before her. Did she trust that it was him? It was possible that the Nazi's were intercepting letters and telegrams. They were careful with their correspondence. He knew they were successful in their meeting but he could see the uncertainty in her eyes as she studied him.

"I was expecting someone more…" She tried to find her words.

"Older?" He knew he looked young compared to his pictures. His resting face always looked like a scowl, and he hated his smile. He always chose to look like the former.

"Shorter." She replied matter-of-factly.

He smiled in spite of the situation, which only lessened the tension that was building up the moment he answered her letter. He could see her shoulders relax at the gesture.

"I'm sorry," she started to explain, "But you're just taller than most."

Did she mean most Germans or just people in general? He couldn't fathom where this conversation was going so he got right down to it.

"In your letter, you said you had some information for me." It wasn't a question.

"Yes I do." She nodded. "Tea will be ready soon, would you like to sit?"

He only nodded as he made his way to the chair that was offered. He felt too anxious to sit, but wanted to be closer to the fire. He didn't take off his coat but undid the buttons as he sat across from her. She smiled at him, but it faded as the silence in the room enveloped them. The crackling of the fire was the only noise to ease the awkward meeting. Soon the whistle of the pot pierced the air. The woman quickly retrieved the pot from the fire and poured the hot liquid into a chipped tea pot. She placed two bags of tea leaves to brew.

Sitting back down, she looked at him expectantly. She was the one who brought me here why is she waiting on me?

"In the letter, you said you knew my father?" This time it was a question. His father died when he was just a small boy, he didn't know of anyone who knew him or could tell him anything about him. Every time he asked his mother about him, she changed the subject. All he knew was that his father was a secretive man, he didn't even know what his profession was. That was just from his own meddling in public records. He soon gave up in his early twenties, focusing on other things. And then the war happened. So it was with a great surprise when he received a letter from a complete stranger telling him that she had information on his mysterious father. He questioned whether it was some sort of trap or reuse. But he took the risk. Why now did someone contact him about his father?

"Yes, many years ago. We worked together." She started to pour the tea into two cups. "Milk?"

He shook his head, in complete intrigue. "You worked with my father? What did he do?" He felt like a child again asking about his father. She sighed as she set her tea cup and saucer in her lap to rest. The delay of an answer was too much for his eagerness. He made to move, to inch closer to the table as if that would urge her on. Before he could do so, she raised her head to look at him again.

"What we did," she shook her head as it hung lowly, "we never spoke of. We swore not to speak of it to anyone. Any of it."

He settled forward in his chair, wringing his hands together in anticipation. If this woman was who she said she was he could finally find out something about his absent father.

"Please, tell me." He urged.

"In light of recent situations, the war, Hitler, it seems only right for me that you should know. I would have told others, but I didn't think anyone would believe me. I knew Karl had a son," she gestured across the table to the man, he nodded, "I thought if I could tell anyone, it would be his son. He never believed in the experiments, just like I didn't."

"What experiments?"

"We were in charge of overseeing an experiment with altering the human condition. The scientist, he was a brilliant man, but something happened, it failed. But Karl and I, we were glad of it. We were ordered to destroy all evidence of what we were doing."

The man didn't realize he was holding his breath until the woman exhaled loudly. He could see the stress of telling him this. She must have been suppressing this information for years. He hoped to God she wasn't crazy, or worse, lying. She continued after a short breath.

"But I didn't. Against Karl's concerns I kept my files." She rose from her seat and set her tea on the table. She turned to the opposite corner stopping in front of a picture frame of a small cottage covered in foliage and flowers. She grabbed the painting off its hook to reveal a makeshift safe. There wasn't a combination or a lock, she simply opened a small door. She reached her hand in as it disappeared in the wall. She pulled out a thick manila folder stuffed with papers. She held it to her chest as she put the painting back.

Hesitantly, she walked towards the man and handed him the file. He opened it, being careful not to disturb the order of the papers, if there was one. All he could see was that there were random notes, calculations, and graphs on various pieces of paper. He didn't understand what he was looking at or what he was supposed to see.

"What is this?" He asked plainly.

"This is every piece of information I had on our experiment."

"Which was?" He asked a little impatiently.

"We were assigned to create a serum that would change the anatomy of the human body. The scientist, Johann Schmidt, was obsessed with creating super soldiers. We worked for years perfecting it before it could be tested. But Schmidt, he was impatient. He tested it on himself, the consequence was great. We were shut down, let go, with no explanation except to keep our mouths shut. So we did."

"Until now." The man stated, still reeling with this information. So his father was a scientist working for the government. No wonder he was a hard man to track. They probably covered up everything in his life that could possibly lead to back to them. Did his mother know? If she did she never had any intention of telling him. There was still one question unanswered.

"Why now? Why tell me this now, why not years ago?" He knew the answer as he asked it. She could see that he understood, but would still clarify for him.

"Shortly after the war started, I heard rumors of the same such experiments starting up again. It was until I was contacted to take my position again did I hear that he was still alive."

"Who?"

"Schmidt. I vowed I would never lend that man any more of my help. Not with this. I knew I had to keep my files safe. I had to keep them in the hands of people we could trust."

"We?" The man felt a little uneasy at the mention of other people being involved. He now knew this was much more serious than just finding out about his father. This went deeper.

"There are a group of us who have tried to keep the secret that we knew what was going on with these experiments. There's only a few of us left. We've recruited others who are trust worthy and support our defiance of Schmidt. That is why I have contacted you. After your father died we kept an eye on you, to see where your allegiance lies. We…_I_ am confident that you can help us."

The man stood from his chair as he circled around the small space. He couldn't focus on just one thought. With the information of his father, the experiments, and this Johann Schmidt, he felt as though he'd been living in the dark this whole time. Did his mother ever tell him the truth? There's no way he could find out now, she had died a few years ago. He was thankful she didn't have to see the country go down the hole.

"What makes you think I can help you?" He asked finally after regaining his wits.

"We could always use more people to support our cause. Why not the son of the former leader of the mission?"

"How do I know this isn't some sort of trap? You could be working for Schmidt."He said a little on edge.

"It's that kind of thinking that leads me to believe that we need you on our side."

He thought about that, it was a sound explanation. But there was still so much he didn't know. What exactly did his father do? Who else was involved? Is Johann Schmidt as dangerous as this woman led on? And what exactly was this _super serum_?

"You know my father's name, but I don't even know yours." He was asking for her identity. If she gave it, could he trust her?

"My name is Marie Hausen."

He took a risk, the feeling in his gut told him he was putting his life in danger, but the thoughts in his head urged him to find out more. At any cost. He stretched his hand out to shakes with hers. She had a surprisingly firm grip for someone who looked about to break.

"Heinz Kruger."

"Yes I know." She stated.


End file.
